Characters: Renji, Rukia.
Pairings: Slight RenjiRuki.
Warnings/Spoilers: Spoilers for Soul Society Arc.
Timeline: Pre-manga.
Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach.
The night air was cool and still, except for a small, trailing wind that whistled eerily through the outer districts of Rukongai, disturbing the residents, who dwelt in their ramshackle tenancy houses, their squalid little huts with straw thatching and leaking roofs, families crowded in so tight in certain places that sardines in their packaging would have had more room to breathe.
There was another tear in her kimono. Renji didn't bring attention to it, but he did notice. Rukia had gotten some money several years ago and had used it to buy a new kimono as she had been outgrowing the one she'd had then. She had deliberately bought one far too long in the sleeve and skirt because she knew it would most likely be the last bit of clothing she'd be able to buy for a while and she wanted it to outlast any prospective growth spurt. As it was, the kimono fit perfectly now.
Rukia had been able to keep the kimono relatively undamaged for the first two years she had it, a testament towards her meticulousness. But soon, it had gotten torn while she and Renji had been running from some would-be robbers. Three tears, all high in the skirt, exposing her legs past the knee. At first, she had hidden her discomfort, but soon, even though she said nothing, it was clear how uncomfortable she was with so much skin exposed; somehow, Renji didn't know how, Rukia maintained an almost prudish sense of modesty in the wretchedness of Rukongai. When all the other girls had resorted to selling their bodies to support themselves, Rukia refused to lower herself to that level.
Renji had scrounged up some spare change, and used it to go to a fabrics shop. The needle had taken up most of the change, and as a result, he'd had to buy yellow thread even though he knew it didn't match the faded lavender of Rukia's kimono, because it was the least expensive. Rukia had accepted the gift with a smile and no comment.
Now, there was another tear, and Renji knew better than to point it out, or risk incurring Rukia's at times explosive wrath. She was more than capable of keeping calm in tight situations but with Renji, the emotions nearly all of the time flew thick and fast.
Rukia stood on top of a rock that rose maybe a foot and a half off of the ground; she had always had a penchant towards high places. The long tear on the right side of the kimono, slightly shorter than the former long tears had been, and several smaller ones that nipped at her ankles, fluttered in the slight breeze.
She stood alone, remote, her eyes staring beyond the grassy area, sparsely dotted with trees that they stood in, and into the patchwork of huts, tenancy houses, and poor shops that made up Inuzuri. The slums, where the dredges of humanity came up with the tide.
"Renji," she breathed quietly, as he came to stand beside her. With her standing on that rock, they were at eye level. "How old are you now?"
Renji shrugged. "I'll be eighteen in a couple of weeks. And you?"
"Sixteen in January." Rukia paused and fell silent. She had been getting very quiet lately, nearly silent, withdrawing into herself, and it made Renji nervous. Their friends had all fallen away from them, though from death, and he was afraid of his last childhood comrade pulling away from him emotionally.
There was something wrong, and Renji wanted to know what.
"What's up, Rukia?" Renji had never been one for beating around the bush; he had never believed that bad news improved with old age.
She narrowed her eyes as she looked at him, wide, violet eyes shielded by sooty lashes, her face pale and thin with its small, sharp chin. "Do you remember when we were kids, and we said that as soon as we could, we'd head in and try to join the Academy to become Shinigami?"
That question prompted a multitude of memories to crash down on Renji's shoulders.
Him meeting Rukia for the first time when she tripped a man who was chasing him and his motley crew of friends. Even with her tiny size, the way she talked and her assertive nature had made him assume she was the same age as him, maybe even older, and he'd had a terrible shock to learn she was only five.
Their quiet conversation upon learning that they had spiritual power. They had both expressed a desire to become Shinigami, but had been unwilling to leave their friends behind since they, Rukia especially, were the de facto leaders of their little gang. A silent knowledge had gone through them at that point, the understanding, however bleak and hopeless, that it wasn't likely that any of them would survive the next few years and that if Rukia and Renji outlived their friends, they would leave.
The death of the last of their friends, four years ago. They had given all of their friends decent burials, but while Renji had cried buckets at each new death, Rukia had been fiercely dry-eyed, stiff and erect, her mouth forming a thin line. If anything, she had cried more when she and Renji had come back to the tiny thatched house they shared and found the pet rabbit she had trapped and decided to care for dead on the earthen floor. Normally, if Rukia found a newly dead animal, she would put it over a sooty cook fire and serve it for dinner, but that rabbit instead got as decent a funeral as she would have wanted for her human friends.
It had been four years since their last friend had died. And in that time, Renji and Rukia had never gotten around to traveling towards the interior. They had wanted to, but their dream had waned over the four years as they just struggled to get along in the world and stay alive in the hell that was Inuzuri.
It was a struggle to survive, and when one fought so hard to live, dreams tended to be thrown towards the wayside. Renji had partially abandoned that dream in the wake of cold, hard reality, but Rukia had never been able to throw it away, as she stared up at the stars at night and gave names to the constellations that were, to them, formerly nameless.
"Yeah, I remember." Renji folded one hand into his shirt as he stared upwards. He saw the constellation Rukia had nicknamed "harp" because it sort of looked like the frame of a harp.
Rukia drew breath in slowly and shallowly, folding her arms around her frame. It was moments like that that emphasized Rukia's ridiculously small body. They were both malnourished—how could they not be?—but while Renji had gotten taller than most of the grown men in that district of Rukongai, Rukia remained small enough for Renji to carry her on his shoulders if she had wanted to.
"I was thinking," Rukia murmured, "that maybe we should start heading towards the First District." Her gaze became piercing as her eyes bore into Renji's skull. "If that's what you still want, that is."
Renji was tempted to ask her if that was a trick question. He had always been willing to follow her anywhere, and Rukia wasn't afraid to exploit that if it served her purposes, though, to her credit, she never used that advantage for anything stupid.
Renji smiled a smile that bore teeth. "Maybe we should," and Rukia smiled back slightly.
Walking on foot all day long, every day, it would likely take weeks, maybe even a couple of months, to get from Inuzuri to the First District. And that was if the good weather held out. Which, knowing Rukongai, it probably wouldn't; it rained often in Rukongai, at all times of the year.
Rukia sighed and stepped down from the rock, bare feet lightly skimming the grass as she headed back to the room of the tenancy house that she and Renji shared.
Tomorrow, they would leave.
Tonight, they would say goodbye to every thing they would leave behind.